


29-Schism

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [29]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-25
Updated: 2010-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Final installment in The Long Shadow series. Been wondering what Qui-Gon's big secret is? Read on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	29-Schism

**Author's Note:**

> I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Smitty for an important chunk of this story. As I was thinking about how to put it together (way back a million years ago), she posted "Wolves," and blew me away. Here, I thought, was a speech worthy of Qui in his most eloquent and defiant mood in front of the Council. Smitty didn’t see it that way, but graciously allowed me to quote—nay, pirate it nearly wholesale from her—regardless. I’ve edited it somewhat to fit the circumstances, but most of the words and certainly the idea is still hers. Many thanks!
> 
> And many thanks to the Deadcat/Firefly/Flamethrower for her excellent beta and prodding. All screw-ups still belong to me.

His datapad still in his hands, Qui-Gon settled himself on his knees in his favorite spot in the gardens. He had gone over Anakin’s records again and again, and could see no reason that would prevent the lad from becoming a Padawan before he turned thirteen in a few tens. Since coming to the Temple four years ago, the boy had soaked up the curriculum like the proverbial sponge, bringing himself up to the expected levels in most of his subjects in record time, though not without difficulty or an enormous amount of hard work. Meanwhile, his phenomenal midichlorian count had helped him actually surpass his agemates in physical and Force skills, in most cases. Unlike most initiates, or full-grown Jedi for that matter, he seemed equally at home in both the Living and the Unifying Force. The only flaws Qui-Gon could see were his emotional maturity, his stubborn independence, and his predisposition to form attachments, though those were hardly barriers to any Initiate. All that remained, as far as Qui-Gon was concerned, was to see what the Force had to say about the idea.

So here he sat on his knees, Anakin’s presence in the Force bright in his mind. Little gods, the boy was like a nova in the near night sky. He’d never seen anyone’s presence like this. The first thing Anakin would have to learn was how to mask it.

Tentatively, Qui-Gon reached out with that part of himself that sought connections and let the Force carry it where it would. The last time, Obi-Wan had drawn it out of hiding, seeking his own bond with Qui-Gon whether the master wanted one or not, and the Force had obliged. Now, Qui-Gon watched in pleasure and remembered fascination as the threads of emotion, of living essence, of the Force in himself and Anakin sought each other over the small distance of a few temple floors and another of vast, incomprehensible, all-encompassing spacetime—

And suddenly Anakin was loud in his head, louder and brighter and more present than any other Padawan he had ever had, even his beloved Obi-Wan, loud enough to give him an instant headache.

Anakin’s presence tolled like a great bell. There were no words between them yet, merely the boy’s exuberance and excitement. He knew what Qui-Gon was asking of him and of the Force. He knew what it meant and the Force filled with joy around them both. No, there were no words now, but perhaps that would come when the true bond formed, not this fragile preliminary thing. Qui-Gon sent calm into it, and his own delight and happiness, and withdrew slowly. He had the clear image in his head of Anakin banging through the creche to spread the news. If his bonds were normally stronger than most Jedi’s, Qui-Gon wondered what this one would be like. Shielding would be their first priority, he suspected.

 _Well, that’s that,_ Qui-Gon thought, and opened his eyes to find he had been observed.

Yoda sat silently in his hoverchair, gnawing thoughtfully on his gimer stick. Qui-Gon merely raised an eyebrow and waited. He’d learned patience at the end of that stick and this seemed the time for it.

Yoda examined him minutely, from head to toe, looking for what, Qui-Gon did not know, but after a time, the older master seemed satisfied. “Certain of your course are you?” the old master said finally.

“As certain as I can be. It seems clear that I’m meant to be Anakin’s Master.”

“Dangerous, the boy is,” Yoda said flatly, his ears drooping. “In favor of training him even the Chancellor is not.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “And since when does the Chancellor’s opinion have any bearing on the internal affairs of the Order?” he replied mildly.

“Taken a special interest in Anakin the Chancellor has. Offered him a place in his personal guard he has, if train him as a pilot the Jedi will.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “That’s—ominous, I would say.”

“Yes,” Yoda replied, and said nothing more.

“Then it’s time,” Qui-Gon said, and looked down.

“Prepared, are you, my Padawan?” A deep sadness seemed to fill the little Master.

Qui-Gon nodded distantly, his gaze unfocused, turned, Yoda thought, either inward to memory or outward to the future; it was hard to say which. “It’s time,” he repeated. He’d been dreading this moment as much as he had worked hard for it. Mace had said he would know it when the time came, and he recognized the truth of those words in their fulfillment. Now that it was here, he felt almost a sense of relief to be doing something, rather than planning or waiting. All that remained was to set the events in motion. For a moment, he felt destiny and time racing away from him, out of his control, as they soon would be. Then there would be nothing for it but to ride the avalanche and hope to stay aloft and uncrushed.

Qui-Gon took a deep breath and looked into Yoda’s eyes. “I will take Anakin as my Padawan Learner, whether the Council allows it or not.”

“So be it,” his Master replied, nodding sadly. “May the Force be with you both, Master Jinn.” As Qui-Gon bowed, the hoverchair turned away.

When Yoda was out of sight, Qui-Gon got to his feet and went in the opposite direction to search out his new Padawan.

* * *

“Well, hells,” Obi-Wan groused, kicking off his boots at the door. Jicky was already setting the table for latemeal. He sniffed with suspicion at first and then inhaled in pleasure. Something smelled wonderful.

“‘Hells,’ what?” Qui-Gon asked, looking up from his chair in the common room. Qui-Gon’s presence in the Force felt . . . odd. Instead of frowning, Obi-Wan smoothed his countenance into nonchalance. If something were wrong, Qui-Gon would tell him in his own good time. Or not.

“Oh, nothing serious,” Obi-Wan replied, dismissing Qui-Gon’s concern with a wave. “A mission: a rather sticky, involved negotiation in a language I’m not comfortable in. I tried to tell Mace but he wouldn’t listen. Apparently I’m the only vaguely suitable person available. On his head be it. How’s your Hapan, Padawan?”

“Pretty good, actually, Master,” Jicky replied confidently. “That’s all Padawan Esk and I used to speak to each other in the creche between classes. We still do when we see each other. Why don’t you like it?”

“Probably because I haven’t spoken it as much as you have,” Obi-Wan replied and grinned. “Maybe I’ll let you conduct the negotiations.”

Jicky snorted. “Not unless you want to cause a diplomatic incident. A lot of what I know is street slang.”

“I am scandalized, Padawan, but not surprised. What do I smell coming from the kitchen?”

It turned out to be one of his favorite dishes, one he usually made for special occasions. Jicky had taken care with it, and it had turned out quite well, as good as his own previous efforts. 

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, then savored another mouthful.

“No occasion, Master,” Jicky replied. “I just thought I’d do something nice for you. You always make such great meals when we’re home. Master Qui-Gon suggested this dish, though.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan replied with a look of amusement thrown in his lover’s direction. “Well, thank you both. You’re becoming an excellent cook, Padawan.”

Jicky beamed in pleasure, and Qui-Gon reached across the table and covered his hand for a moment and squeezed. “It’s a pleasure to see you enjoy it, love.” There was something in his tone of voice that made Obi-Wan look at him askance. On the verge of asking if Qui-Gon was all right, something made him stop and instead take another mouthful of the delightful food. He’d already sensed the presence of the tentative new bond with Anakin and put it down to that.

“Have you spoken with Anakin yet?” Obi-Wan asked instead.

“Yes, this afternoon,” Qui-Gon responded. “I’ve put in the forms; we have an appointment with the Council tomorrow.”

“You’re taking Anakin as your padawan, Master Qui-Gon? That’s so wizard!” Jicky enthused.

“Yes, we’re going to need larger quarters with two Padawans. You might as well start packing now, Jicky,” her Master said.

“I’d wait a bit, Padawan. I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” Qui-Gon replied, shaking his head.

“You think the Council will balk at you training him?” Obi-Wan asked, frowning.  “Surely after all this time and with his progress there won’t be an issue.”

“I’ve been told as much already. The Chancellor has advised against anyone training him.”

“Palpatine?” Obi-Wan was astonished. “What say does he have in it?”

“My question precisely,” Qui-Gon growled.

Qui-Gon had been closely monitoring Anakin’s progress and education since bringing the boy to the Temple, with the explicit understanding that he would be Anakin’s Master when the time came.  Obi-Wan said as much, and Qui-Gon agreed. “So what’s changed?” Obi-Wan inquired.

“There is a faction in the Council that believes it’s safer if Anakin remains untrained as a Jedi.”

“That seems unwise, at best, even though I once thought so myself. They don’t believe he’s the Chosen One, either, I assume.”

“No, though I think I’m in the minority among the rest of the Temple in that belief. Even you don’t agree with me.”

“Say rather than I’m as yet unconvinced, but willing to consider the emerging data,” Obi-Wan corrected. “But I’ve changed my mind entirely about the necessity of training him. I couldn’t agree with you more, and I can’t think of a better Master than you, as you know. Why would not training him be safer? Are they afraid how much power it would put in his hands?”

“Presumably. It seems more prudent to me to worry about that still undiscovered Sith Lord getting hold of a new, extremely powerful, and untrained apprentice. The Sith have never had the scruples we do about training older students.”

“Well, yes, when you’re simply teaching your students to follow their worst instincts, it wouldn’t matter much, would it?” Obi-Wan replied in a voice dripping sarcasm. “But Anakin’s made tremendous progress, especially for one who came to Temple so late.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “How hard do you think it will be to convince the Council that you training him would be the wisest choice?”

“Whether I convince them or not, I will train him,” Qui-Gon replied as though it were simply a statement of fact. “The Force tells me it is the right course of action.”

Obi-Wan felt a chill slither through him. He knew Qui-Gon in these moods. There was no changing his mind once he felt the Force was guiding him. That it most often was, offered little reassurance. _I have a bad feeling about this,_ he thought, but said nothing.

They finished dinner and Obi-Wan helped Jicky clean up before she started her homework. Qui-Gon settled in with his class notes and essays to grade while Obi-Wan reviewed the information on his mission. Eventually, Jicky tidied up her workspace and took herself off to bed with a cheery “Good night!” Obi-Wan went back to his mission briefing and did not even notice that Qui-Gon had vacated his chair and gone into their bedroom until he returned wearing the blue silk robe Obi-Wan had given him.

Obi-Wan looked up when Qui-Gon sat next to him and gently extracted the datapad from his grasp, placing it on the table and cupping Obi-Wan’s face in his hands. “Come to bed,” Qui-Gon said, then leaned in and pressed his mouth to Obi-Wan’s, which opened under the pressure, inviting him in. Qui-Gon accepted the invitation and explored at his leisure until Obi-Wan made a small, needy sound and pushed back for a bit of exploring of his own.

They traded the kiss back and forth several times and when they finally pulled back they were both flushed and smiling. Obi-Wan’s lips felt swollen, and other parts of his anatomy were following suit. Qui-Gon got to his feet and took Obi-Wan’s hand, pulling him up and along behind him. Obi-Wan followed without protest, smiling in anticipation.

In their bedroom when the door had closed behind them, Qui-Gon turned to him and cupped his face again and looked into his eyes. “Beautiful man,” he murmured, and his voice and eyes and touch were so full of love that it took Obi-Wan’s breath away. They kissed again, tenderly this time, as Qui-Gon began removing his lover’s clothing, piece by piece, with the same reverence he’d used the first time they’d made love.

When he was naked, Qui-Gon looked him over as though committing the sight to memory, then began to touch Obi-Wan as though he’d never done so before, as though he were a new lover, but one with an instinctive knowledge of what would give Obi-Wan pleasure. He mapped Obi-Wan’s skin with his fingertips in a caress so light it almost tickled, then the scars he’d acquired over the years of his Knighthood. He traced Obi-Wan’s nose with a finger, then his lips, and when Obi-Wan nipped at his fingertip, he smiled and trailed his fingers down Obi-Wan’s throat before leaning in to bite one nipple. Obi-Wan shuddered and clutched at Qui-Gon’s arms.

“You’re wearing too damn many clothes,” he growled, reaching for Qui-Gon’s sash. When it was undone, he pushed the robe from Qui-Gon’s shoulders and let it slither from him to pool on the floor. Then it was Obi-Wan’s turn to feast his eyes, from bare feet to silvered hair. Obi-Wan mirrored Qui-Gon’s gesture and cupped his lover’s face, brushing his thumbs over the delta of lines at the corners of Qui-Gon’s fiercely blue eyes.

“ _Iji aijinn_ ,” Obi-Wan murmured and kissed those ridiculously lush lips, slowly steering Qui-Gon backwards toward their bed. When Qui-Gon’s legs hit the edge of it, he stopped and, instead of sitting down, turned them so Obi-Wan was against it. Then he slid to his knees, and ran his hands up the front of Obi-Wan’s thighs until he could grip his hips. He leaned forward and licked up the underside of Obi-Wan’s now-erect cock. Obi-Wan shuddered and threaded his fingers into Qui-Gon’s hair as a whimper escaped him.

“Let me make love to you tonight,” Qui-Gon said, his voice gone to an almost subsonic rumble that sent shivers through Obi-Wan.

“Yes,” he squeaked as Qui-Gon’s hand closed around him, then laughed with his lover at the noise. “See what you do to me? That was meant to come out all sultry. I’ve got absolutely no control over myself with you.”

“Which is just how I want it,” Qui-Gon agreed, and closed his mouth around the head of Obi-Wan’s cock.

The noise that came out this time was a deep groan as Qui-Gon’s tongue played over the glans and into the slit. He leaned back against the bed, knees wobbling, as Qui-Gon’s hands and mouth sucked and stroked and pushed him closer and closer to the brink then held him back from it with light feathery touches and licks. One hand cupped his scrotum and rolled his balls, then squeezed the way he liked. Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan toward and pulled him back from the brink several times before finally finishing him off. Obi-Wan came with a shout and sank to his knees, straddling Qui-Gon’s lap, belly pressed against Qui-Gon’s own erection, too drained to even move his hips. He slipped his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck and felt himself held securely as they nuzzled each other, Obi-Wan still panting. “That was . . . wonderful,” he sighed.

“I’m not done with you yet.” Qui-Gon’s voice was full of desire. His hands roamed Obi-Wan’s back, sliding along his spine, up and down, each time a little closer to the sweet spot over his tailbone where Qui-Gon’s monogram resided. Finally, callused fingertips began to circle there, tracing the letters or just stroking randomly until the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck began to prickle and he wriggled on Qui-Gon’s lap. Qui-Gon seemed absorbed in nuzzling his lover, and kissed Obi-Wan’s neck before sucking a passion mark to the surface of it, then nibbling along the tendons revealed when Obi-Wan threw his head back. Qui-Gon’s hands went under Obi-Wan’s buttocks, kneading, and then he knelt up, inviting Obi-Wan to wrap his legs around his waist.

Qui-Gon surged to his feet, clutching Obi-Wan to him, and lay him down on their bed, then climbed up beside him. Obi-Wan began wriggling again as Qui-Gon’s hands caressed him in long strokes, petting him like an animal and making every bit of his skin hypersensitive even as it left him boneless. Obi-Wan writhed on the sheets under the attention. “Oh gods, Qui, you’re driving me mad,” he complained. “Do something!”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I thought I was,” he replied, sweeping a broad palm down Obi-Wan’s body from collarbones to just above his pubis, carefully skirting his hardening cock.

Obi-Wan gave an inarticulate growl and thrashed in frustration, which only made Qui-Gon laugh more.

“All right, _kosai_. Tell me what you want.”

“You. In me. Now,” Obi-Wan growled, pulling Qui-Gon down by the back of the neck for a searing kiss. When they parted, Qui-Gon licking his lips and grinning, Obi-Wan tossed him the lube. “Now,” he reiterated, and started to roll over.

Qui-Gon stopped him with a hand on his hip. “I want to see your face tonight, love. Please.”

There was something almost pleading in Qui-Gon’s voice and Obi-Wan searched his face for a moment before reaching up to cup his cheek in one hand. “Of course,” he said, wondering what was going through his partner’s mind. The bond felt muddy between them, not from shields but from some emotion that felt almost like anxiety—perhaps about Anakin. He lay back on the bed, arms spread wide. “I am clay in your hands. As long as you do something quick,” he added with a mischievous grin, hoping to distract Qui-Gon from whatever he was worried about.

Qui-Gon answered it by kneeling between Obi-Wan’s legs, scooping up two handfuls of Obi-Wan’s ass and hoisting him up to rest on Qui-Gon’s lap. Obi-Wan raised one leg to Qui-Gon’s shoulder and bent the other one to rest his foot flat on the bed by Qui-Gon’s side. In another moment, a slick finger delved beneath him to find the opening of his body, then probed gently there without entering. Obi-Wan squirmed again and growled in frustration, wanting more, wanting that finger inside.

Qui-Gon turned his face and kissed Obi-Wan’s knee. “Shhh, slowly. I want to make this last for you. Patience, Padawan.” Another night, it might have been mischief in his voice, but now it was a deep tenderness. Clearly, Qui-Gon wanted to give him something special, and he should have the grace to accept it.

“Maddening, that’s what you are,” Obi-Wan sighed in mock frustration and gave himself up to Qui-Gon’s skillful hands.

Finally, Qui-Gon’s finger pushed inside, so slowly it was as though Qui-Gon were afraid of hurting him, as though he were still a virgin. It seemed incredible now that he’d ever been leery of this, of having any part of Qui-Gon inside him, whether his enormous and magical hands or that magnificent and admittedly intimidating cock. It was almost funny—and then it was wonderful as Qui-Gon curled his finger and unerringly found Obi-Wan’s prostate, setting off a shower of sparks that shot up his spine and across his vision. He bucked into the touch and moaned, clutching the sheets beside him.

But it was only a single touch and Qui-Gon then began moving his finger in and out, slowly stretching the muscle. He leaned forward a little and caught one of Obi-Wan’s nipples between his fingers and pinched hard at the same time the finger inside him found his prostate again and Obi-Wan yelped in surprise and pleasure. “That—oh—oh, that’s good! More of that, please!” he stammered. Qui-Gon watched him slyly and made him wait for it, until the anticipation made it all the more intense when it came, making him cry out.

And then there were two fingers pushing into him, stretching him open, exploring inside him, finding his secret pleasures and wringing more cries from him. He was trembling now, his limbs weak and his hands shaking as he dug his fingers into the covers. Every so often Qui-Gon would rub against his prostate and send a shock through him, just enough to keep him panting and on edge. He was ready now and knew it, but Qui-Gon pushed three of his big fingers inside, rotating his hand until they were all in to the third knuckle and Obi-Wan was pushing into them impatiently, desperately.

“Qui—please, gods, please now—I want you—”

“Yes, love, yes. Gods, yes.” He heard a hint of desperation in Qui-Gon’s voice too, and then his cock, slick and hot and huge, pressed against him. Qui-Gon lifted his other leg to his shoulder and Obi-Wan was bent double as Qui-Gon sank into him. Obi-Wan’s arms were still flung wide across the bed, and his hands, shaking, clutched the bedclothes in fists. He arched up as Qui-Gon began to move inside him. The angle was perfect, the head of Qui-Gon’s cock and the ring threaded through it rubbing across his prostate with every thrust. He closed his eyes, head thrown back, and made himself feel everything: the weight of Qui-Gon’s body on his own, the slick of sweat between them where skin met skin, the bulk and delicious motion of Qui-Gon’s cock inside him, thrusting in quickly, gliding out slowly, the touch of fingers on his face—

“Obi-Wan, look at me. Look at me, love,” Qui-Gon murmured, stroking his cheek with rough knuckles and calloused fingertips. “Beautiful man.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and met the cerulean blue of Qui-Gon’s gaze, now nearly swallowed by black pupil. “ _Iji aijinn,_ ” he sighed before Qui-Gon’s mouth covered his own, tongue pushing inside as his cock had. Obi-Wan drank him down and his hands came up, framing Qui-Gon’s face as his lover thrust tongue and cock into him. He was filled and enveloped, held captive with pleasure, his own heartbeat loud in his head as the myriad sensations began to overload his nerves and spiraled him up toward orgasm.

Finally, Qui-Gon broke the kiss with a groan and began to thrust in earnest, his breath hot and fast on Obi-Wan’s neck and shoulder. Obi-Wan slid his hands up into Qui-Gon’s hair and fisted them there, pulling his lover’s head up. “Qui,” he panted, “look at me. I want to watch you. Look at me. Watch me, too.”

And Qui-Gon did. His eyes opened again and his face filled with desire and love and the through the bond came a deep sense of need as he thrust inside twice more, lost his rhythm, and shuddered into orgasm with a deep cry almost of pain. “Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan . . . oh, gods!” he gasped, eyes rolling back, mouth dropping open, skin aglow.

Obi-Wan took it all in, watching that dignified face dissolve into ecstasy and feeling his own sense of joy and triumph at the ability to so thoroughly undo the man he loved, to strip him down to something so primal, and so beautiful. The bond filled with a conflagration of firing sensory neurons and emotions—desire, need, ecstasy, sorrow—and tipped Obi-Wan, thrashing, over the edge a moment later as Qui-Gon watched him come just as hungrily.

For a moment afterwards, they lay panting together, stunned and sated and amazed, Obi-Wan feeling more overwhelmed than he had in some time after making love with his partner. There was something more intense than the usual afterglow coming through the bond, much as Qui-Gon tried to hide it: the old fear of loss, and a sharp hint of melancholy that puzzled Obi-Wan, but also a deep tenderness he was loathe to question. He wrapped it around himself and nuzzled into Qui-Gon’s hair with a soft sigh as they lay together in one another’s arms.

Breathing finally slowing, they reluctantly disentangled at last, though as little as possible once Obi-Wan’s body had pushed him out. Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon down on top of himself again and wrapped his arms around his lover. Qui-Gon’s breath was warm on his shoulder and he nuzzled into Obi-Wan’s neck, one arm curling possessively around his waist, the other beneath the pillow, one long leg pressed between Obi-Wan’s thighs. Obi-Wan’s fingers found their way to the tie in Qui-Gon’s hair and loosened it, then began to run through the thick mass of old bronze and new silver, gently separating the tangles.

“I love you so much,” he whispered into Qui-Gon’s ear.

“I can’t even tell you,” Qui-Gon mumbled rather cryptically. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and smiled, but said nothing, instead rubbing his cheek against Qui-Gon’s hair and putting in more tangles than he was taking out. In short order, the regularity of the other man’s breathing told him Qui-Gon had slipped into sleep, which accounted, probably, for his incoherence. He seemed strangely fragile tonight and that in turn made Obi-Wan protective and tender himself. He pulled the covers up over the two of them and ran his hands slowly up and down Qui-Gon’s long back until he too fell asleep.

* * *

In the morning, he woke with Qui-Gon’s arms wrapped tightly around him, long after the man’s usual dawn rising time, though it was still early. His face was buried in Obi-Wan’s neck and he was still asleep, which was strange enough. Carefully, Obi-Wan rolled over in Qui-Gon’s arms and brushed a long fall of hair out of his face, finding a trail of dried salt down one cheek and pooled in the corner of his eye and nose. Feeling something crack inside, Obi-Wan traced it lightly, barely brushing the skin with a fingertip.

Qui-Gon came awake at the touch, finding consciousness instantly in a way that Obi-Wan never could. He looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes, grasped his hand and kissed the salt from his fingertips.

“What’s this from?” Obi-Wan asked gently.

Qui-Gon smiled. “I must have been dreaming in the night.”

Obi-Wan frowned at the blatant untruth, but let it pass because Qui-Gon was leaning in to kiss him awake and reaching for his morning erection in what was clearly a distraction attempt. He decided he preferred to be distracted than work out why Qui-Gon was distracting him, especially when Qui-Gon wrapped both their cocks together in one of his enormous hands, squeezing and pulling them just the way he liked. It didn’t take much to bring them both off again, and Obi-Wan shuddered and sighed as he came, watching as Qui-Gon mirrored the reactions a moment later.

“You’re late waking up,” he said, after he’d kissed Qui-Gon again. “Did you not sleep well?”

“I slept very well afterwards, thank you. Holding you is a tonic. I do oversleep occasionally, you know.”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose, half at Qui-Gon’s answer, and half at the smell coming out of their sheets. Once again, he chose not to challenge his lover; whatever was going on in Qui-Gon’s head would reveal itself in due time. “Hmpf, I don’t see how in this stench. Our bed smells like a brothel. You’ll have to change the sheets when I’m gone.”

“I like the smell of us in the sheets when you’re not here,” Qui-Gon replied, a trace of mischief in his voice.

Obi-Wan grinned. “Gets you off, does it, Master Jinn? Our funk?”

“When you’re here, yes. When you’re not, I find it . . . comforting.” He smiled lopsidedly and Obi-Wan laughed, amused by Qui-Gon’s sentimentality. He leaned forward and kissed Qui-Gon again.

“Whatever makes you happy, love. Now, if I don’t get up, I’m going to set a bad example for my Padawan.”

“Can’t have that,” Qui-Gon agreed, flinging the covers off both of them with something suspiciously like forced cheerfulness.

Qui-Gon made them breakfast while Obi-Wan and Jicky readied themselves for departure. Jicky had packed them the night before, so all that remained was to wash, dress, and eat, then be on their way. Uncharacteristically, Qui-Gon offered to clean up after them, for which Jicky was supremely grateful. It was also uncharacteristic that Qui-Gon accompanied them to the docking bay to see them off. “I’m on my way to find Anakin anyway; it’s only a short detour,” he offered when Obi-Wan gave him a raised eyebrow. Plausible, Obi-Wan thought, but unlikely.

Even more uncharacteristic was the very public embrace and kiss he was given prior to boarding. Since their recent and wistfully remembered furlough, Qui-Gon had been more publicly affectionate in temple, but it was still highly unusual for Qui-Gon to wrap him up tightly and kiss him nearly senseless in front of an audience of pilot and co-pilot and ground crew. He even gave Jicky a warm embrace. Had it been anyone else there would have been hoots and catcalls but the audience was more respectful of Master Jinn, and seemed just as dumbstruck as Obi-Wan. He was sure he, at least, would hear about it in the future. He decided he could endure that, especially if Qui-Gon made a habit of it.

“Force be with you, love,” Qui-Gon told him, stepping back from him. “Safe journey to you and Jicky.”

“And with you and Anakin. Try not to aggravate the Council too much, Qui,” Obi-Wan admonished with a smile that softened the sarcasm of his words.

Qui-Gon returned the smile but made no promises, waving them off up the ramp. Obi-Wan watched the hatch close behind them with an ill-defined uneasiness.

 

Qui-Gon’s heart thumped painfully in his chest as the hatch closed on Obi-Wan’s ship. He hated this deception, hated not being able to share his plans with the person who was more dear to him than his own life. It would be easier now to do what he had to do, and he suspected Mace had known that and arranged Obi-Wan’s mission. He didn’t know whether to curse or bless the man.

Doubtless Obi-Wan knew something was up; he knew Qui-Gon well after the years they’d spent together as student and teacher, colleagues and lovers. Doubtless he’d known last night as well, and this morning, when he’d found the residue of tears on Qui-Gon’s face, but had said nothing—not out of callousness, but out of duty. Qui-Gon’s weeping had been brief and silent in the night.  He had committed himself to this course and there was no going back, regardless of the personal consequences. All his life he had schooled his Padawans and himself to believe that duty came first, that they were Jedi before anything else. When he had faltered in that commitment when Tahl died, it had been Obi-Wan who had reminded him of it. In his own way, it was Obi-Wan who had reminded him again this time, by letting him keep the secrets he needed to. Qui-Gon hoped he had the fortitude not to betray that trust.

As the ship’s engines began to whine, he retreated behind the blast shield with the rest of the ground crew and watched until the ship disappeared into Coruscant’s out-bound traffic. “Force be with you, _kosai_. I love you,” he whispered, and turned away to collect his new Padawan.

* * *

Anakin stood beside Qui-Gon in his best Initiate’s whites, hair still untrimmed, excitement and nervousness quivering in every line of his frame. At nearly thirteen, he was just beginning to show signs of growing into what Qui-Gon suspected might be a respectable height, and was losing some of the roundness of childhood from his face. Obi-Wan, by contrast, had still been a small, weedy lad at this age, who had only shot into his full growth much later, over the course of two years. Already, Anakin looked a bit like an overgrown, gangly pup. Where Obi-Wan had been hot-headed and yet strangely insecure, Anakin was impulsive and superbly confident, reminding Qui-Gon a little of Xan at a later age. But Qui-Gon was determined this apprentice would end up more like the former than the latter.

He placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “Whatever happens here, Anakin, if you want me as your Master, I will be.”

The boy looked up at him with blue eyes full of trust and faith. “Of course I want you as my Master, Master Qui-Gon. Who else would I want? I just don’t understand—”

But his protest was cut off by the summons from the committee’s major domo. 

The last time Qui-Gon had stood before the Council for this purpose, it had been a mere formality. The bond between him and Obi-Wan had been fully formed on Bandomeer, and he and the boy Yoda had been steering him towards were already a working team, despite Qui-Gon’s reluctance. At that point, the will of the Force had been so obvious that it was impossible for anyone to ignore any longer. As it was now.

It had been some time since Anakin had stood here himself, and the makeup of the Council had changed somewhat since he’d taken the Initiate’s Test, but apparently the attitudes hadn’t. Qui-Gon’s colleagues wasted no time coming to the point.

“Master Jinn, the Council has carefully considered your application to take Initiate Skywalker as your Padawan learner, and your request is denied,” Mace informed him.

Beside him, Anakin made a small sound of outrage, and Qui-Gon touched his shoulder reassuringly, filling their nascent bond with calmness and love.

“May I know the Council’s reasoning?” Qui-Gon asked in a cool, controlled voice. In truth, he was not at all surprised, thanks to Yoda’s warning, but he wanted the reasons out in the open. “Since coming here, Initiate Skywalker has met or exceeded the requirements for his age group in both his academic studies and his Force training. Quite a feat for a lad five or more years behind his peers.”

“Initiate Skywalker has already been marked for special training at the request of Chancellor Palpatine,” Oppo Rancisis said peevishly.

“I see,” Qui-Gon replied. “So it’s the Chancellor, in his great experience of the Force, who now decides the fate of our Initiates?”

“You know that we groom initiates for specific careers, Mas—” Rancisis began.

Qui-Gon cut him off curtly. “Not at the behest of outsiders. Our Initiates are given to us in trust that we, not outsiders, will find the most appropriate path for them. You know what potential Initiate Skywalker possesses. When was the last time we saw anyone with the midichlorian count this boy has? And you would give that untrained, wild potential over to a Force-blind civilian? If nothing else, the lad should be trained if only to protect himself and us from what a Sith Lord might make of him.” Qui-Gon reached out and drew Anakin close to him. “But most of all he should be trained to become the great Jedi he has the potential to be.”

“He is not the Chosen One, Qui-Gon,” Adi said sharply.

“How can you say for certain, Master Gallia? Last I knew, foresight was not one of your talents.”

“Nor yours, Master Jinn,” she snapped.

“No, but I am capable of reasoning—and research. What else could a boy without a known father, possessing a midichlorian count twice the amount of not only anyone on this Council, but any known Jedi, be? But his status as the Chosen One is beside the point. The real issue is: Why are we throwing away this potential?”

“We’ve said it before, Qui-Gon,” Saesee Tiin replied. “The boy is dangerous. Training him as a Jedi would make him more so.”

“So you would leave the loaded weapon lying in the open but not make sure the safety was on.” Qui-Gon shook his head.

“The weapon cannot be unloaded,” Plo Koon pointed out.

Qui-Gon snorted. “Imagine: a roomful of Jedi Masters quailing before a child,” Qui-Gon said with more than a trace of derision. “It’s not the boy you’re afraid of, my Masters. It’s change. Anakin is something none of us have ever seen, as potentially powerful as some of the ancient, legendary masters. No wonder you find that threatening.”

Yoda’s ears rose at that remark, and though he had said nothing so far, he seemed pleased with Qui-Gon’s riposte. He continued to watch with deceptively sleepy eyes.

“This changes nothing, Qui-Gon,” Mace told him. “The Chancellor—”

“The Chancellor has no say in the Order’s internal business,” Qui-Gon retorted.

“We are servants of the Senate and the Republic—”

“We are servants of the Light of the Force, not some political body, Mace. We’ve had this argument before, I know, but it is crucial here and now that we make that distinction because we are on a very slippery slope. Once we allow outside bodies to dictate our internal matters, we become nothing but political puppets—an army. And an army of extremely powerful religious fanatics at that. Is it the Force that guides our actions or some politician?”

Qui-Gon looked around the room, waiting for an answer. Most of the Council members, he found, could not meet his gaze. Mace did, with a stony expression, and Yoda, who revealed nothing through slitted eyelids. Only Depa and Eeth seemed to agree with him, and nodded.

Qui-Gon drew in a deep, calming breath and squeezed Anakin’s shoulder gently, looking down at the boy. He reopened the nascent bond between them pushing calm and reassurance down it once again. Anakin relaxed fractionally, but was still tense as a wire beneath his hand. _How this must hurt him,_ Qui-Gon thought sadly. He could only hope it was not irreparable damage.

When he looked up again, Qui-Gon’s expression was set in the steel both the Council and his Padawans knew well. “This is not a matter that should be debated by this small a group,” he said. “This is not merely a matter of training one child; it touches upon who and what we are as an Order. Whether Anakin is or is not the Chosen One of prophecy, he is unique in his abilities and potential and his fate in the Order should be decided by the entire Order, not a group of frightened, hidebound bureaucrats. I call a Conclave.”

The loud chorus of replies ranged from surprise and confusion to outrage, again, with the exception of Yoda, who gave Qui-Gon the tiniest of nods.

“—a Conclave?”

“—not been one in three millennia!”

“—no right to—”

Qui-Gon’s voice rose above the cacophony. “I do have a right to call a Conclave.  Every Jedi does, as you would know if you were aware of your own history. No, there has not been one in millennia; perhaps it’s time there was. Shall I make the announcement or will you, Master Windu? I don’t believe an actual Force Call is necessary in this case.”

“Make it, I shall,” Yoda piped up. “A good thing, this is. See that appropriate background information is available to all, I will.”

Qui-Gon bowed, grateful to his old master. He knew Mace did not like having his hand forced this way, but he could see no better solution, though he also had little hope this tactic would succeed. It was not only the Council who had become hidebound in recent years.

Once outside the Council chambers, Qui-Gon stopped and turned Anakin to face him. The boy looked near tears and Qui-Gon could hardly blame him. Qui-Gon tilted the lad’s face up to look at him.

“Ani, do you trust me?” he asked gently.

“Yes, ser. I always have,” Anakin answered promptly. “But what’s a Conclave? What’s that mean?”

“It means I’m asking the whole Temple to decide whether you should be trained or not.”

“And if they say I shouldn’t be?”

“The Force tells me you must be, and so you shall be if that is what you wish. What you do with that training will be your choice. I want you to understand that now. Your destiny is your own, not to be decided by anyone but you—not by the Council, not by the Jedi or the Chancellor, not by some ancient prophecy, not even by me, even though I believe you should be trained. I would exhaust all our options here, first, but if the vote goes against us, I have made other arrangements. You must be willing to follow my lead. You must trust me. Do you?” Qui-Gon asked again.

Anakin looked into Qui-Gon’s eyes with determination smoldering in his own. “Isn’t that what Padawans do? Trust their Masters?”

Qui-Gon nodded, smiling, his heart swelling. “Yes. Yes it is. Come, Ani,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

* * *

Gathering the several thousand Jedi who were actually in-Temple took much less time than Anakin had thought it would—a mere twenty-six hours, in fact. Within that time frame, information on both sides of the issue was distributed, along with instructions on the time and place for the Conclave to gather. By the next day’s eleventh hour, what had many centuries ago been the main entrance hall to the Temple began to fill with Jedi, each of them with a datapad. All the usual security stations remained at full strength and the appearance of Jedi in the public spaces of the temple remained the same, but those not occupied with visible duties had been filtering into this space for some time. As midday approached, the space was full of Jedi quietly discussing the reason for and the fact of the Conclave.

At precisely midday, a line of Jedi with their hoods up, trailed by a lone Initiate in white, made their way through the crowd to the top of the steps that now led deep into the lower and mostly abandoned levels of the Temple. Once lined up at the top, they turned back their hoods, revealing the Council and Qui-Gon and Anakin. Mace stepped forward and raised a hand, the sleeve of his robe slipping back along his arm. Voices quieted gradually.

“Knights and Masters, greetings,” he said in a deep, booming voice. “And our thanks for answering the first call to Conclave in the last three thousand years.” His voice rang through the Great Hall without benefit of amplification. The acoustics in the room were made for this, designed in a time when the Order was both smaller and more governable by direct vote. “Master Jinn has asked that the Assembly decide whether he be allowed to take Initiate Skywalker as his Padawan learner. Initiate Skywalker’s records have been forwarded to you, along with the Council’s decision and the reasons for it. I open the floor to questions and debate.”

“I see only one reason given, Councilor,” a Twi’lek Knight in the front said, “and that is the Chancellor’s request. Are there other reasons we should be aware of?”

“The Counsel believes Initiate Skywalker is too old and too dangerous to train as a Padawan learner,” Mace replied.

The Twi’lek raised an eyebrow, her lekku twitching with annoyance. “All due respect, Master Windu, Counselors, but we’re all dangerous. We’re Jedi,” she pointed out sardonically, eliciting quite a bit of laughter. “That doesn’t seem like much of a reason, despite his age. That’s quite a midichlorian count he’s got.”

Qui-Gon could barely hide his amusement.

“Why are we voting on an issue this simple? It seems clear Initiate Skywalker has enormous talent and potential and should be trained to Knighthood,” a voice from the far left pointed out. It turned out to be the Combat Master.

Qui-Gon stepped forward, pre-empting Mace’s explanation. “I chose to bring this before the Jedi Assembly because the Council has come to believe that what the Chancellor wants is more important than what the Force has already appointed.”

Mace looked exasperated and tried to calm the murmuring that had broken out, as well as do some damage control. “In light of our decision not to train Initiate Skywalker, we decided the Chancellor’s offer of a place in his elite guard was a kind offer.”

“My ass,” someone muttered not far from the foot of the steps. Anakin had to look down to keep his grin from being seen across the hall. That had been his thought, exactly.

“Is it true you already have a training bond with Initiate Skywalker, Master Jinn?” another voice from somewhere in the middle called. Qui-Gon couldn’t place who it was, but answered anyway.

“Yes. It is not yet a full-fledged bond, but it is one, nonetheless. It formed spontaneously.”

More murmuring and discussion followed that affirmation.

“Why is the Chancellor being allowed to decide Jedi internal affairs?” a voice called from far in the back, faintly reaching the top of the steps, but repeated by others.

Even Piell stepped forward, a commanding presence with his battle scars, despite his height. “This was not the Chancellor’s decision,” he replied. “It was an offer made to the Council—”

“Semantics,” Qui-Gon growled under his breath.

Proving that Jedi could be as impolite as any other mob, a voice interrupted, “How did he know the decision not to train Skywalker had already been made?” And that was, Qui-Gon was amused to see, his grand-Padawan Isa Kassir. “Is he kept apprised of all our internal affairs, Masters?”

This caused something of a stir both among the crowd and among the Council. For some reason, as though he were responsible, Mace shot Qui-Gon one of the dirtiest looks he’d ever received in public.

“It would be one of your line who’d bring that up,” he muttered in Qui-Gon’s ear, before stepping up to answer the question.

“The Chancellor has expressed a special interest in Initiate Skywalker since his involvement in the Naboo crisis. We were asked to keep him informed of Skywalker’s progress. When it became clear he would not be a Padawan learner, the Chancellor offered an alternative.”

“How long ago was this decided?” Qui-Gon asked in a mild voice that still carried to the rear of the hall.

“Approximately a year after the boy was tested,” Mace admitted reluctantly.

That set off another round of more energetic murmuring, which the Counselors let run for some time.

Finally, another voice rose above the hubbub: Jocasta Nu’s. “Master Jinn, do you believe Anakin Skywalker is the Chosen One? Is that why you wish to train him?”

“My beliefs about whether Anakin is a figure of prophecy matter little. It’s my recognition of his potential as a Jedi that makes me believe he should be trained. If he is not the Chosen One, well, we waste more talent than we have any right to. This is just the most blatant example. If he is, the refusal to train him could be catastrophic, since none of us really understand what ‘bringing balance to the Force’ means.”

Yoda ended another round of murmuring some minutes later. “If no other questions there are, vote we now shall.” Silence fell gradually in the vast hall, broken only by the tic-tic of styluses against datapads. Qui-Gon watched the numbers accumulate on his own, surprised that they were running so close. A faint hope arose in him that he quashed savagely before it could take hold, and it was well he did. The vote, as he had known it would, went finally against them, though it was a near thing. The fact that less than a hundred votes formed the gap surprised both Qui-Gon and the most of the Counselors. Only Yoda did not seem nonplussed.

Qui-Gon set his expression in a thunderous frown. “So be it,” he acknowledged, looking out over the hall and seeing many more unhappy faces than he had expected. “I feared this would be the case. I fear for you all. And I fear for the Order,” he continued, stepping forward and raising his voice. “The Council has made far too many of you into lapdogs, and I will no longer be one. What of the rest of you? Some of you remember your heritage, and your origins. Some of you still remember thinking for yourselves. But none of us remember the days when we were free to choose our own Padawans, or to train more than one at a time, no matter what their age. Because that freedom has been taken from us, one piece at a time.

“Once, we were wolves,” Qui-Gon intoned, his voice ringing like a bell through the hall, turning all eyes to him. The Council seemed to huddle behind him, uncertain and ineffectual, but for Mace, who stood ramrod straight with his hands tucked serenely in his sleeves, and Yoda, who watched both the crowd and his former Padawan with shrewd eyes. Unobtrusively, both Depa Billaba and Eeth Koth had moved to flank Qui-Gon.

“Once, we chose our own lives, chose our own beliefs,” he went on. “We ran where we pleased, alone or in packs. We knew our families, raised our young ones as we saw fit. We were the children of a thousand suns, of a hundred species, united only by the silent touch of something beyond ourselves that urged us to serve the light and gave us extraordinary gifts to do so.

“All gifts have a price.

“Some were hunted, some were worshipped, some were driven from their homes. Some led, some followed, some walked their own road. We were as nature made us in all our glorious variety of form and belief, as flawed as those who begat us.

“Once, we were _free_.

“At first others sought to destroy us, to track us and kill us one by one by one, but we grew wise to their hunters and more were born into each new generation. They could not hope to take us all.

“They chose—wisely, perhaps—to tame us instead.

“It took centuries, of course, but the political machine has infinite patience. There were religions in place already, systems of belief for those who sought to explain their existence rather than to merely accept their gifts for what they were. The Republic found one that suited their purposes, encouraged it, nurtured it, promoted the Jedi Order as a safe place for our kind.

“And then, when we had grown cautiously comfortable with the offered amnesty, they twisted it to their own selfish ends. No politician wishes to see raw power wasted in pious contemplation, after all, not when it can be turned to their own uses. And in this lay our downfall.

“They made tools of us. Then they sent those who followed the new way after those who would not. Only those who posed no threat could be suffered to live, and little matches the zeal of the converted. When we learned how to identify each other as babes in our parents’ arms, their mastery of us was complete. How could we rebel against the only life we knew?

“Once we were wolves—they turned us into dogs.

“But even dogs may dream of their ancestry, of running free from the shackles of ownership. Such dreams are not to be spoken, of course—to see beyond the service we are raised to is forbidden. We should not know what we are, what we were, what we might be still. To question is heresy, to savor the taste of freedom is death.

“Some choose to sample the flavor regardless—the forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. Of those, a few survive to enjoy their feral existence but most are killed in the inevitable pursuit. Rogues are not to be tolerated under any circumstance, lest the young develop romantic notions about forming their own destinies. We live to serve and only to serve. But to serve whom?”

Qui-Gon looked over the sea of faces, thousands of Jedi looking back at him. _Half the Order, perhaps_ , he thought, _give or take a few hundred._ Many faces were inscrutable to him with their non-human features, despite his years of diplomatic experience with so many kinds of sentients. Drawing a deep breath, he touched the Living Force around them, finding it full of both hope and disquiet, though nothing so strong as anger in this roomful of Jedi. The rest of his speech, he suspected, might change that.

“We are raised to see service as the be-all and end-all of our existence, to view any other role as a failure in ourselves. Children are encouraged to fight for the honor of obedience so that only the most zealous pass into the ranks. The remainder are sent away where they can be watched while their higher talents wither from disuse, the long habit of duty holding them as new labors are found. Healers, farmers, menial laborers, diplomats, couriers, pilots, warriors for another's cause— _these_ are what we have become: slaves too pathetically grateful for our bondage to imagine anything beyond our captivity.

“But what if our masters become corrupt, and the services we render more useless or indeed, harmful than those we might offer unshackled? Of what use then is our slavish obedience? What if our so-called masters begin to serve the Darkness? What then of our pledge to serve the Light? We cannot have two masters.

“Once, we were wolves. So long as even one of us remembers that and can feel the faint call of the wild, can value the fact of another's freedom, then we are not entirely lost. Some of us may await our orders at our master’s knee, but so long as we know that others of our kind have never felt the tug of the leash, there is a place for wolves still.

“And I, for one, will no longer heel to the Chancellor’s—or this Council’s—commands.

“I, Jedi Master Third Degree Qui-Gon Jinn, take Initiate Anakin Skywalker as my Padawan learner, and I will train him. If it means leaving this Temple as a lone wolf to do so, so be it. Anakin? What is your decision?”

The boy swallowed heavily and looked out over the Great Hall at the sea of faces, some hostile, some merely waiting neutrally, some watching him with what looked like hope. At that moment, he began to sense the enormous import of what was going on here.  This was about far more than just his apprenticeship. He looked up at Qui-Gon, the man who had been his guide since he’d come to the Temple and whom he had hoped would be his Master, standing with his hands tucked in his sleeves, waiting patiently for Anakin’s decision. The tension in the room prickled over his skin, but Master Jinn seemed like a rock in the middle of a sandstorm: patient, immovable—and safe. Anakin stepped closer.

“I, Initiate Anakin Skywalker,” he began, his voice quavering a little. He stopped, cleared his throat and started again with more confidence, his voice ringing out over the Great Hall. “I, Initiate Anakin Skywalker, take Jedi Master Third Degree Qui-Gon Jinn as my Master. I’ll go where he goes.”

“So be it,” Qui-Gon intoned again. “Come, Padawan.” He swept down the staircase into the crowd, drawing Anakin with him and, to the surprise of many, Depa and Eeth behind them. As the four of them made their way across the Great Hall, the crowd parted for them as though they carried some contagion, though their progress was slow. Then something strange began to happen. Other Jedi began pushing their way through the crowd and falling in behind them, until Qui-Gon and his new Padawan were trailing a comet’s tail of followers, one that grew and spread until it was literally hundreds.

Watching them go, Mace leaned over to Yoda and murmured, “That bastard. I think he enjoyed that.”

Ears drooping, Yoda nodded. “Too right he is. May the Force be with us all.”

 

Feeling more serene than he had any right to, Qui-Gon led Anakin and his band of rogue Jedi out of the Temple and into the plaza around it. Passersby stopped to gawk, understanding without being told that something momentous was happening. Qui-Gon found a bench he could mount and looked over the crowd, realizing only now that it was far larger than it should have been. Jedi were not easily swayed by mere words; the additions to the number he had been expecting had obviously been reading the same signs he had, that all was not well with the Order that was their home or with the Republic they had sworn to serve. For good or ill, they were now a logistical problem, and perhaps a danger. Well, he was not without resources, or without trusted lieutenants.

“Master Billaba, Master Allie, Master Koth, you know where the ships are. Do a headcount and take your groups to the shuttles and start ferrying everyone up to board. Knight Micoda, you and I will take the overflow and let them gather their personal belongings so they’re not coming away with nothing but the clothes on their backs. We’ll spread them among the vessels we’ve got. We’ve likely enough room on board but it will be a tight fit once we arrive on the other end. Make sure everyone knows we’ll be doubling up quarters and halving rations.”

 _Thank the little gods we’re all Jedi here, if we’re going to be refugees,_ Qui-Gon thought. _At least this lot knows how to take orders and cooperate._

And in truth, it was all done quietly and without fuss. The team leaders Qui-Gon had appointed in advance cut their people out from the crowd and began moving them toward the shuttles Qui-Gon had hired to move them to the space dock where two passenger liners awaited. They seemed to be coming away with only the clothes on their backs, but in truth their personal belongings had been loaded that morning. The last-minute arrivals were another matter. Qui-Gon looked them over as they waited as patiently as only Jedi could for his direction.

“As you have probably deduced by now,” he began, still standing on the bench and addressing a crowd half the size of the original, “this eventuality has been carefully planned for, though for a much smaller number than has come away with us today. While I welcome you all, you should know that this will be a one-way trip. Once we leave Coruscant and arrive at our final destination, there will be no contact between our new Temple and this one for many years, if ever. We are on our own, and there is no going back. Quarters will be tight, rations will be scarce for a time, and the work will be hard on the other end. If you have qualms or second thoughts, I ask you to remain here for the sake of the new Temple’s survival.  If any of you have personal belongings you wish to retrieve, do so now. The last shuttle leaves at 11th hour tonight.”

There was some murmuring as the crowd broke up, but little indecisiveness. Qui-Gon thought they would lose only a few of this unexpected group. When the plaza had cleared and the crowd of gawkers with it, however, only Qui-Gon, Anakin, and one other Jedi remained.

“Ayana,” Qui-Gon bowed in acknowledgment to his first Padawan after stepping down off the bench, placing a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Are you coming as you are, or are you here for another reason?”

“You know why I’m here, my Master,” Ayana replied with sadness, “though I have little hope I’ll succeed. Why are you doing this, Qui-Gon?”

“Because Anakin must be trained,” he said gently. “And for other reasons you know in your heart as well.”

“If the Order is so badly wrong, what will we do without you to remind us of our faults?” The tone was light and cajoling but it didn’t fool Qui-Gon. He could sense her anger beneath it. But he had trained her and she knew how to school her features and her voice into studied neutrality.

“I’ve played the gadfly for too long, Ayana. Few people, and no one of import, listens to me anymore, as you can see. If Anakin is the Chosen One, then he must be protected and trained. If the Order will not do it, I must.”

“And the others?”

“Feel the same, or have similar misgivings. He should not be trained in a vacuum and I alone cannot protect him.”

“So this is a schism,” she said with the first sign of strain in her voice.

Qui-Gon let a fleeting smile touch his lips, but it too was sad. “If you like. I prefer to think of it as knowing who and what I—we—truly serve.”

“And your young man?”

That stopped Qui-Gon for a moment. “My young man is a full Knight himself. And he is not mine,” he said at last, though even to himself he sounded less than sure. “Obi-Wan will understand. Whether he will forgive me or not, I’m less certain. He knows I have always done as the Force tells me.”

“And it tells you now that you should split the Order?” At last, the heat of anger began to color her words.

“If this splits the Order, Ayana, I won’t be the only one at fault.” Qui-Gon let a cool distance infuse his voice. “You saw how many people followed me out. I didn’t persuade them at the last minute with my honeyed tongue. If anything, my words were merely a catalyst for the thoughts they’ve been having for tens, perhaps years. The Order has lost its way and it bows too easily to people who know nothing of and fear the Force. People like Palpatine will eventually bind us in so many rules and strictures that we will go deaf to the very thing that sets us apart.  We would become merely soldiers, enforcers—not protectors of the weak and guardians of peace. I see that in our future and I fear it. You see it too, Ayana, and it makes you angry with me.”

After a moment, Ayana nodded. “We need you, Qui-Gon. We need your experience, your fearlessness, your honesty.”

“Right now, Anakin needs me more. The Order is full of wise adults, Ayana. You yourself are one of them. Anakin has only me.”

“All this for one Initiate?”

“Every life is precious, Ayana. You know that as well as I. The Order is a large organism that can take care of itself. Anakin is one small boy. Even the Chosen One needs guidance, if that’s what he is.”

His first Padawan looked away, suitably, if gently, chastised. “I see Isa’s going with you. It will break Bruck’s heart.”

“And it breaks yours too, I see,” Qui-Gon replied in a gentle tone. “As it breaks mine to leave Obi-Wan behind. Our Padawans must each follow their own paths, Ayana. As we all must.”

Ayana nodded distantly, still not looking at him. “I suppose this should not really surprise me. You were always a law unto yourself.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “It’s not my own desires I’m following. It’s the will of the Force. That’s all I’ve ever tried to follow.”

“You sound mad, you know.”

“From a certain point of view, I suppose so. I thought the same thing about Dooku.”

“And yet here you are, following in his footsteps and taking half the Order with you,” Ayana snapped, then looked ashamed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. And I don’t believe it’s true, either.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “No, this isn’t the kind of ideological difference my Master had with the Order.  I hope we won’t always have it, either. I hope when Anakin’s grown, and become the powerful Jedi I know he can be, that this will seem ridiculous and unnecessary. But in the meanwhile, I’ll do what I must to make that happen. I’m sorry if this hurts you, Ayana. That was never my intent, to hurt anyone. And yet I knew I would.”

“It’s a hard life,” Ayana responded with a wry smile and resigned air. “May the Force be with you, my Master. I hope—” She stopped, eyes bright.

Qui-Gon put a tentative hand on her shoulder and she let him draw her into his arms. “I hope so too,” he murmured, kissed her forehead, and turned away.

By midnight, the Temple and Coruscant held nearly seven hundred fewer Jedi.

* * *

The document declaimed before the Conclave, as it was later clandestinely circulated throughout the Temple and elsewhere in facsimile flimsy and digitized form, had most certainly been written in Qui-Gon’s elegant script. Obi-Wan was certain of this fact because he held the original in his hand. Even before he’d left, he had known something was about to change. He’d felt it in his bond with Qui, in the atmosphere at the Temple, seen it in the countenances of the Councilors he reported to and in the vague visions that came to him in the night. The trouble with Anakin had been brewing for some time already when he’d departed, though he had heard nothing of the final confrontation until it was already too late. By the time he returned, the uproar had died to stunned incredulity in the Senate and a deep, despairing sadness in the Temple. The rumors reached him on the way back. Instead of reporting to the Council first, he made his way at a fast walk back to the rooms he shared with Qui-Gon, Jicky trotting to keep up, a chill of premonition running down his spine.

The door slid open on empty quarters, stripped of everything that had any sentimental value to Qui-Gon, but only those things that had nothing to do with the Order itself. Qui-Gon’s Jedi clothing had been put away neatly, his boots stood beside his cloak, which hung on the peg beside the door where it had always hung. The only article of clothing that was gone was the blue silk robe Obi-Wan had bought him years before, and his few pieces of civilian clothing.

Obi-Wan walked through the denuded rooms, feeling stunned. All the flatpics and holos of himself were missing, as well as all those that showed he and Qui-Gon together, except particular favorites of his own. The shelves his collection of nameday rocks had shared with Qui’s books were nearly empty; only a few volumes remained, all but one of them Obi-Wan’s. The remaining tome was not a book at all, but a leather scroll case that contained the bulk of Qui-Gon’s poems. Obi-Wan wondered if they had been left as a gift to his lover, or as a sign that he was putting everything in his old life behind him. But every gift Obi-Wan or any of his other friends had ever given him was gone, leaving bare, faded spaces here and there on various walls. Rooms that had seemed cozy and a little crowded before were suddenly too large and echoed with his footfalls and movements. The sense of Qui-Gon’s presence was gone, erased, not even the scent of his soap left behind.

 _I can’t stay here,_ he thought. _I can’t. Not in these rooms._

“Master?” Jicky said in a small voice. “What’s happened?”

“I—I don’t know, Padawan,” he said in a faint voice, still stunned himself, unaware that his Padawan was watching him helplessly.

In the middle of their bed, weighted down with the first rock Qui-Gon had ever given him, was a letter and the document. Reading the latter, Obi-Wan could hear Qui-Gon’s deep, sonorous voice ringing out through the Conclave, shocking the usually respectful, silent Jedi into outrage.

“Once, we were wolves,” it began. Obi-Wan smiled despite himself. Qui-Gon would have growled the words. When he chose, he could be a dynamic orator, with all a master rhetorician’s tricks, and a Jedi Master’s commanding, compelling voice. But Obi-Wan’s hands shook as he finished reading. His mouth was dry, his heart hammered in his throat, his stomach twisted in nauseating knots. For the first time in his life, he felt completely estranged from the man he loved. What was going on in Qui-Gon’s head that he would write this—defy both the Order and the Senate with it? How could he just throw away a lifetime of—

Of what?

According to this, this diatribe, a lifetime of involuntary servitude. Of brainwashing. Deceit. Complicity. Wastefulness. Groveling. All these years, had he really felt that way? Under all that serene devotion to duty, had Qui-Gon truly been seething, only to have this issue of training Anakin bring it, once and for all, to a head, the way training Qui-Gon himself had finally forced Dooku from the fold?

Obi-Wan’s frown pressed his lips into a thin line. Impossible. Qui-Gon might be irascible, independent, and stubborn, but he was not a liar. He had seen the man’s deepest emotions and there was no hint of this, this _madness_ there, and never had been. His closest friends would know that. Mace. Yoda. Plo. Himself. Valorum. Loran Organa. Perhaps a few others.

Very few, Obi-Wan reflected. Qui-Gon was such a private man with such a formidable reputation that only a handful of people knew him well enough to see through that. And his own history, read in a certain light, could make this seem inevitable. The writer of this declaration was the Qui-Gon Jinn who had gone after Tahl’s killers with vengeance in his heart, the man who had lost one Padawan to the dark and tried to martyr himself afterwards, who had refused a bond with a new Padawan no matter how stubbornly it had manifested itself and then taken him as a lover, the man as frequently before the Council for censure as for praise, the man who could make himself do the thing he most feared himself to teach his Padawans a lesson. This was the Qui-Gon Jinn who bullied the very parties he was supposed to be negotiating with, who didn’t scruple at using the Force to influence others for the sake of moving a mission along. This was written by Qui-Gon Jinn the Grey Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn the rogue.

And yet it wasn’t. Argue with the Council he had more than once, and endured their censure too, but leave the Order voluntarily, much less in the rage this indicated . . . Obi-Wan doubted it. Doubted it with both his reason and his heart.

He read the document through again. And again. And a fourth time. The rhetoric and syntax were certainly Qui-Gon’s. Obi-Wan had seen them any number of times in official documents of one sort or another Qui-Gon had helped draft. But the tone was wrong. The phrasing, the idioms, the vocabulary all reminded him of Xanatos. It had his twisted logic, his resentment, his contempt. As the Master, so the Padawan, Obi-Wan thought uneasily. No. Never. But perhaps, the Padawan had taught the Master, in this at least. Even so, that did not explain the reason behind this action. Had Qui-Gon lost his mind?

Or did he merely wish it to appear so? Six hundred-odd Jedi had followed him out the door of the Conclave, out of the Temple. Six hundred. Including two Councilors. The idea, the number, was staggering—nearly a tenth of the Order. Numbly, he wondered who else was gone from his life, afraid to find out. It seemed astonishing, on one level, and completely unsurprising on another. Qui-Gon could be a charismatic leader when he chose to be. Obi-Wan had watched him forge alliances and coalitions between warring parties, or make a disciplined army of the lost in just such a manner, countless times. It was clear he had been planning this, that this was the secret that had lain between them since Obi-Wan’s Knighting. It had to be; it explained so much: the absences, the secretiveness, the silences, and occasional distraction tactics; the moments of clinging desperation during their furlough; the tenderness with which they’d made love the night before Obi-Wan had left on his most recent mission.  The scrolls . . . he would have to look at those, later, when he had the courage.

But, little gods, that nearly seven hundred other Jedi should join him! What did that bode for the Order?

Obi-Wan sat down on the bed, calmer than he had been before that thought, but not much more certain of Qui-Gon’s motives. He heard and felt something crinkling beneath him, rose quickly and pulled out the letter. It too was in Qui-Gon’s beautiful hand, Obi-Wan’s name in flowing, perfect Danjii characters brushed onto the folded sheet of heavy paper that had become its envelope, the flaps sealed with wax and what looked like a thumbprint. He opened it carefully, leaving the seal intact. There were a number of sheets of thin, crackly paper inside, filled with the close, elegant hand of his master and lover in the ruler-straight, vertical rows of Danjii—and an archaic Danjii, at that—rather than Basic. The keloids on Obi-Wan’s back were in these characters rather than the modern ideograms. It would have taken Qui-Gon some time to write a letter this perfect, each page a precise, solid square of ideograms. This was not for any eyes but his own, and would not give up its meaning to a casual glance. Qui-Gon wrote complex and complicated poetry in this ancient Danjii—poetry and love letters.

 _My Dearest Obi-Wan,_ it began. He felt tears start in his eyes, wiped them angrily away before he smudged the ink on something that was a work of art as well as a letter—and might be all he had left of his lover. _Though perhaps I have finally gone too far and you are already no longer mine. If not, I beg you to remember that you will always be dearest to me, regardless of how your feelings for me should alter, and I ask that you give this letter a fair and careful reading before you close your heart against me forever._

“Oh, Qui,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Foolish man.”

_I had hoped to see you before leaving the Temple, even if it meant enduring your wrath and scorching tongue, but my new responsibilities will allow me to wait no longer, and you are still embroiled in your mission, as you should be. You know the details of my quarrel with the Council as well as anyone; it has come, at last, to the flashpoint. Anakin cannot go untrained; the Council has forbidden me or any others from doing so. As though he were any other unchosen Initiate, he was to be sent into Palpatine’s clutches. Thrown away, as they would have thrown you away. Thrown away, and perhaps seduced by the Sith, as you might have been by Xanatos, were you not the great soul you are. And Anakin, I fear, has not the stubborn moral fortitude you possessed at his age._

_Obi-Wan, my heart, I have learned many things from you in our years together. One of the most important is that the Jedi waste far more talent than we make use of. I was as guilty of this in your case as they are now in Anakin’s, and I dare say in other cases as well. I will not see Anakin’s abilities wasted, as yours nearly were. I know you are not as certain as I that the boy is the Chosen One, but I know you agree it is folly to throw away such great potential, regardless. If nothing else, he needs to be sufficiently trained to protect himself—and us—from the influence of the Sith. Though you have rarely spoken to me of what you saw in your Vigil, I know you understand why I must train Ani. Whether I will be successful or not remains to be seen, but it must be done. The alternative is certain folly._

_This is not an action I have taken lightly, nor would I have embarked on it if there had been another way. Despite what the Council, influenced as they now are by Chancellor Palpatine, believes about Anakin, he must be trained, even if it means leaving everything I know and love to do it. Always, since you have known me, and before you came into my life, I have acted as the Force has guided me, whether it was also the will of the Council or not. Increasingly, I have come to feel that the Council follows its own will and the will of politicians, rather than the Force. I wish this were not so; I wish there were another way for all of us, but I feel in my heart and bones that I have chosen the right path, however much it might cost me personally._

_It appears, however, that I am not the only malcontent in the Order. I had not expected so many to follow me into what I had thought would be a far lonelier exile. In truth, I had not expected anyone to agree with me, much less ask to go with me, and now I find I have suddenly become responsible not only for Anakin and myself and a few others, but for a large enough group of people to make a sister Temple. I hope, eventually, that is what we will become._

_For while I have left behind the habiliments of a Jedi, I will always be one in my heart. I suspect that most who have chosen to come with me feel the same. Perhaps we shall be considered heretics and rogues in the histories yet to be written, but I hope you will not consider me so._

_I will not ask you to follow me and tear your loyalties asunder, though you will always find a home wherever I am. I suspect that your destiny lies, at least for the time being, with the Order, and I know you have never shared my feelings about the Council. You must do as you feel is right, as must I. I cannot tell you where we will be, for Anakin and the fragile new Temple we are starting must be protected at all costs, but you have only to look into your heart to find me._

_I knew when you were knighted, My Padawan, that one day our paths would diverge, and now, at last, they have, though I did not dream it would be my doing. We have had many more years together than I had ever hoped to have, more than any Jedi has any right to hope for, and I will be content with those, if I must. They are—you are—far more than I deserve. No one has brought such light into my life as you have, nor will anyone ever again, until you join me in the Force in your own time. I will not speak of us never seeing each other again in this life, for I feel in my own heart that we will. Nor, if you still love me after this, would I bind you to me with promises. Find comfort and love where you can, my heart, with Bruck, or another. I will be lonely enough for both of us, and I am too old and too attached to want anyone but you._

_Words cannot tell how much I love you, Obi-Wan, and nothing can change that—not distance, not time, not death. I hope that, through the bond you made with me, you will always be certain of my heart. And now you must pursue your own destiny, and become the great Jedi I know you will be, finally out from under your old Master’s long shadow._

_Always yours, always with all my love,_

_Your Qui-Gon_

__

 

 

 

Not his formal signature, the one he had appended to what Obi-Wan was coming to think of as “that vile rant.” It was followed by a smaller duplicate of the monogram he bore on his own skin, the one that marked him as his lover’s property. _Your Qui-Gon._ And he was. Would always be.

He put the letter aside and sank to his knees beside the bed. It wasn’t grief that drove him there, though he knew he would miss Qui-Gon deeply and painfully in the time to come, but a different sort of sadness. How could Qui-Gon think he would be any less loved for following his own heart, bitter as that choice might be? Did he not know that was one of the traits Obi-Wan loved best about his Master, a lesson he had taken pains to teach his Padawan? It changed nothing between them. He knew in his own heart that Qui-Gon was neither a rogue nor a heretic and it hurt to think his lover might not realize that. There had to be some way to tell him, even now . . . and perhaps there was, as Qui-Gon himself had hinted.

Unlike a training bond—even theirs that had been so much stronger than others—the bond forged in saving Qui-Gon’s life on Naboo was unaffected by distance. It seemed, instead, directly connected to the Force, a part of everything around them. It could be shielded against, dampened so it did not become overwhelmingly distracting the way the Force itself sometimes could, but it was always there, no matter how far apart they were. Obi-Wan had described it to Bruck once as having their own private Holonet, but that was not entirely true. They could sense one another’s thoughts and perceptions when it was wide open, but not speak with each other through it, at least not with words, not anymore. But there was between them the language of emotions, sometimes raw, sometimes subtle.

Obi-Wan let that particular shield within him fall, reached out to the Living Force, and let all his love for Qui-Gon fill him until he felt he might drown in it. Then he pushed it through their bond and felt it wash against the shields on Qui-Gon’s end. Before he could draw another breath, those shields fell too and he felt himself rocked on a returning wave of love and relief. Obi-Wan reached into his heart again to find acceptance, visualizing the Danjii character for serenity on his back, and returned that through the bond, more love riding its wake, and the conviction that they would always have each other, no matter what. _Yes_ , Qui-Gon told him, not in words, but with joy and pleasure and more love. There was regret in it as well, but also the confidence that what he had done must be done. Obi-Wan agreed, again sending his lover his acceptance and reassurance. Qui-Gon responded, wherever he was now, with another wave of gratitude, and contentment, and love. Obi-Wan let himself bask in it as they fed each other with love and hope and peace, back and forth, hearts full to overflowing. Almost, he could feel Qui’s large hand in his own, the whisper of lips against his temple.

After a time—too short in some ways, too long in others—they withdrew from each other, not entirely closing their shields, but both returning their awareness to the world around them, Qui-Gon to sleep, and Obi-Wan to a pair of wise and sympathetic green eyes gazing at him intently at his own level.

“Master Yoda.”

“Report to the Council first. you should have,” the little Master grumbled with his usual mock-crossness that Obi-Wan knew masked a deep concern, as well as affection. “Told you, we would have, that he was gone. Not the way he would have wanted you to find out, was this.”

 _Yoda speaks of him as if he’s dead_ , Obi-Wan thought with a barely visible shudder. “I knew it already, Master,” he replied. “Or at least that something was wrong. This,” he said, indicating the letter he still held, “only told me why.”

“See it, may I?”

Obi-Wan looked at the sheets in his hand, covered with calligraphy Yoda could no doubt read just as easily as he. “With all due respect, I think not, Master,” he said firmly. “There is nothing in it that would be of any use to you or the Council—or anyone else.”

Yoda’s eyes narrowed shrewdly and he nodded once. “Well, that is. Wish to follow him, do you?”

“Part of me, yes. I will miss him. More than I can say.” His voice failed him for a moment and he found he had to swallow and blink hard before he could go on. “But my place is here. Anakin’s welfare is not my concern. Not yet, at any rate. I have other obligations, and a Padawan of my own to think of.”

“Well, also, that this you know, Obi-Wan. Gave us a fine Knight, your master did.” Yoda’s ears drooped a little.

“Did you speak with him, before he left? Was he speaking to anyone? Mace? Plo?”

The ears drooped a little more. “No one. Gone in hours he was, after the Conclave.”

“With seven hundred people?” Obi-Wan felt the blood draining from his face. That spoke of more planning than for just himself and Anakin; it smelled of conspiracy. Had Qui-Gon been fomenting a rebellion? Certainly he’d had the time to. And the means. No wonder he had said nothing all this time. “He knew. He knew the Council would refuse his request to train Anakin. He knew he would have to leave.”

Yoda said nothing, neither confirming nor denying, but the droop of his ears and the look in his eyes said much.

Considering, Obi-Wan realized he had also known himself that it would come to this. After watching Anakin for four years, he was as certain as Qui-Gon that the boy could not be left untrained, and just as certain that Qui-Gon was one of the few people who could actually do the job. No matter how defiant that document seemed, he felt certain now that it was nothing more than smoke and mirrors. Qui-Gon was as duty-bound as ever, but it was, as he had said, the Force he served, and through the Force, the greater good of an Order that had lost its way. How ironic that he should have to leave the Order he loved to help save it, no matter what the cost to himself. No, he would not be branded a heretic or a rogue, not if Obi-Wan could help it.

As painful as this was, as hard as it was, as lonely as he knew he was going to be, there was a rightness to this he could not deny. Clearly, Qui-Gon was not alone in his dissatisfaction. More, there was in Obi-Wan a guilty sense of exhilaration with the sadness. The last line of Qui-Gon’s letter came back to him: _And now you must pursue your own destiny, as I pursue mine, and become the great Jedi I know you will be, finally out from under your old Master’s long shadow._

 _Not a shadow, Qui. More a corona, and me the attendant dwarf star in your dazzling orbit,_ he thought with amusement. When your Master was the finest swordsman in the Order and one of the most sought-after diplomats in the Republic, it was difficult not to be overshadowed, let alone feel that way. Nothing would so firmly and finally set him apart from his master than this final rebellion. Obi-Wan’s pairing with Jicky had gone a long way toward that already, as had the reputation he had been building since his Knighting, but with Qui-Gon no longer present in Temple every day, his master’s glamour would fade—if it was not already tarnished.

Obi-Wan didn’t fear being tarred with the same brush; he rarely had been even when he had been trailing at his master’s heels. Qui-Gon had protected him as a Padawan from the consequences of his actions until Obi-Wan was old enough to voice his own considered opinions about them to the Council. Since his Knighting, since that first hard year, he’d been stepping steadily out of the glare of Qui-Gon’s reputation and into his own light. Now he was fully on his own. The realization was bittersweet.

“Master?” Jicky’s voice recalled him to himself and he looked up to see his Padawan in the door to their—now his—bedroom, and Yoda watching them. Her voice quavered uncertainly, and she looked as shell-shocked as he had first felt. “Have they really gone? All of them? Even Master Jinn?”

“It depends on what you mean by ‘all of them,’ Padawan,” Obi-Wan replied. “But, yes, Master Qui-Gon is gone as well. He seems to have blazed the trail the others followed, all seven hundred-odd who chose to go.”

“But _why_?” she demanded, her eyes showing just a little too much white around the irises.

Obi-Wan held out his hand and she came to him and knelt beside him as Yoda watched. “Because things change,” Obi-Wan said. “Because even Jedi do not always agree with each other, any more than Master Jinn and I always agreed with one another.” The past tense slipped out before he realized it.

“But he left _you._ He left, he left _us_.” And there was something trying not to be either terror or anger in her voice.

Obi-Wan gathered her in and tucked her against himself as Qui-Gon had done many years ago with him. “I’ve no intention of leaving either you or the Order, my young apprentice,” he said gently, answering the question lurking behind her statements. “Master Qui-Gon felt his duty to the Force lay elsewhere, and he has always been one to follow what he believes the Force is telling him.”

“How can that be so different from what the Order wants?” Jicky huddled against him as though he were a stormbreak. “And what about the rest of them?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t speak of or for them,” Obi-Wan replied, meeting Master Yoda’s eyes. “I can only guess that something Master Jinn said resonated with them. They left for their own reasons, as those who stayed remained for their own reasons.”

“But he loves you! How could he—”

“Because we are both Jedi first,” Obi-Wan replied with perhaps more harshness than he’d meant, as much to remind himself as his apprentice. He heard Qui-Gon’s voice in his own, repeating his master’s lesson. “We are both Jedi, both servants of the Force, first. My path lies here; Master Jinn’s lies elsewhere.”

“It doesn’t seem fair. To you, I mean,” she added, looking up at him.

“The Force asks much of us, Jicky. No one said being a Jedi would be either fair or easy. And yet we choose that life, not knowing what it will  bring us except solitude and service. Qui-Gon and I were together longer than many Jedi couples are.” _And now I’m speaking of him as though he’s dead. Little gods._ Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he were cursing or beseeching. _At least he’s alive and safe somewhere. I should be grateful for that._ He knew he would be, eventually, but for now there was only grief in his heart. He hugged Jicky tightly and sensing his need, she returned it.

 _Always two,_ he thought. For now, it would have to be enough.

* * *

That night, long after Jicky had gone to sleep, Obi-Wan lay awake in a bed that seemed far too vast for one person. If he concentrated, he could still feel something of his Master’s presence lingering, though little of his physical presence remained. Even the plants he’d been cultivating had been given away or taken to the Temple Gardener. Qui-Gon had packed up his clean clothing and returned it to stores, leaving only a little bit of laundry still waiting to be sent off, along with Obi-Wan’s and Jicky’s mission things. He had even changed the sheets before he’d left, and emptied the fresher of his toiletries as well.

Once Jicky was asleep, Obi-Wan had tentatively let himself begin to mourn, sitting on the balcony with a mug of tea. The thought that kept winding through his head was that it was still unreal, somehow, that Qui-Gon should leave like this, leave him, leave the Order, leave Coruscant. He knew he wasn’t the only one coping with such a loss; Bruck had lost Isa, too, in the same way. He had actually watched her walk out of the Conclave behind Qui-Gon and out of his life. In some ways, Obi-Wan was glad he hadn’t had to endure that. Bruck had said he’d argued with her until she’d gotten on the shuttle, and that their last words—his last words, at least—had been angry, hurt, incredulous. Obi-Wan suspected his own would have been too. It seemed better to come home to find the deed done and spare both of them the mutual excoriation and indignity of a public argument.

And yet Obi-Wan found he couldn’t be angry with Qui-Gon. They’d seen so much together, he thought, and Qui-Gon had taught him so much, given him so much, helped make him both the man and the Jedi he was. But it wasn’t the lessons he dwelled upon. It was the joy and the quiet times, the affection, that came back to him now: their recent leave; the night they had made love in the Temple gardens; stolen moments on missions together. He had a store of memorable occasions—in bed making love or lying together in afterglow, and of sitting close or entwined at home or in public, or knee to knee in meditation; these moments were what he cherished most. These were what he would miss. But, despite the clenched fist around his heart and the sense of loss, there were no tears.  

In addition to the pleasant memories, the one fact that kept pummeling him was that Qui-Gon was gone. It felt like a death in its permanence, knowing that he would not be walking back into their quarters probably ever again. Obi-Wan’s quarters, now—well, his and Jicky’s quarters. He was suddenly deeply grateful that the Force and seen fit to find him a padawan; this would have been so much harder without her bright presence. It was no substitute for Qui-Gon, but it made the absence bearable, and reminded him that he had others in his life that he loved. And that he had responsibilities of his own. He was grateful, too, for the years together that he and Qui-Gon had had, knowing it all could have ended on Naboo, or during any one of either of their missions. They had been very lucky indeed. And Obi-Wan was, in an absurd way, proud of Qui-Gon, that he still had the courage of his convictions, no matter the consequences.

His tea went cold and the night grew later, and though he was filled with sadness, the tears that had threatened upon reading Qui-Gon’s letter still did not press him now. He wondered why.

Eventually, feeling drained, he had gone to bed. After lying awake fruitlessly trying to sleep for a number of hours, long enough to see dawn lightening the sky, Obi-Wan got up and found himself rummaging through the outbound laundry, pulling out the sheets Qui-Gon had taken from their bed before leaving. He sank his face into them and inhaled, filling his head with the fug of two male bodies and lovemaking. The scent broke something open in him and he slid to his knees, clutching the sheets, and began, finally, to weep.


End file.
